Risen
by Dark Elf3
Summary: Remy Lebeau, Gambit, returns to the XMen after his abandonment in Antarctica... to find that while some things stay the same, others change... including himself. Ch.8 now up! Oct 06, 2010.
1. Rhythm

**Risen **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Note (05/20/2010): This story was originally published on this site in 2003. In an attempt to try and continue after a four year hiatus, I have gone back and started re-editing the original chapters. The content is exactly the same; I am simply trying to reword a couple of areas so that it feels less disjointed with my current writing style.

**Rhythm**

By: Dark Elf

He could feel it in his veins. The beat of the city thrived within him, dangerous and uncontrollable. Nothing could calm it; and he did not seek to find its cure. He felt alive as his heart quickened with the pace of the imaginary drumbeat of the night. The palpitations heightening his senses, arousing his interest in the world, making him feel newborn. He was the devil incarnate, and this night many would fall for him. They would whisper his name in dreams of passion; they would love him.

They would want him.

How he _longed_ for their company. For a soft look, for a lustful glance; anything that would remind him of the feelings he no longer had. Anything that would allow him to lose himself in blissful ignorance for one more night. No worries. No reason to remember the past or look to the future for new regrets. For now he could just nod his head slightly, back and forth, lost in the invisible music that he heard.

It may have been hours, he had stopped keeping track of time a while ago. Instead, he immersed himself in the lives of the souls around him. The pain from one dark alley, mixing with the joy coming from a party down the street. He reveled in it; the sweet sadness, the acid agony. And a malicious grin graced his lips to think that they weren't his for once, but those of others. All made right suddenly when combined with the moans of pleasure that filled the twilight elsewhere. If he concentrated enough he could filter out the pain. He could be washed in happiness and delight. Even better, he could end the pain of whomever it belonged to, numbing their senses with a thought. He could pick up the role of savior that he had put down when they handed him his cross. And yet… he would leave that to someone else. For he was not a man tonight, obligated by the bonds of brotherhood to help those in need. Tonight he would close his eyes and ears to the whispered pleas of humanity that always tried to lure him out of his apathetic position. He would truly feel tonight. He would take the bad with the good. Mixing the pain with the pleasure, just so, if only for a minute, he could breathe from the same air of life as others. So that he could have what others foolishly took for granted.

And it didn't matter if it was all a trick.

Not real.

Not his.

He could ignore that part too, as easily as he could the heartbreaking screams originating from a victim found in the predatory streets of this city. He would let fate run its course uninterrupted if only, in return, it would leave him in peace for a while.

He didn't owe them anything. He did not owe the dying female a block away from him anything. She had chosen the wrong path- she had tempted fate- and fate had struck her down with its unforgiving hand. _Guilt?_ Why? _He_ hadn't hurt her. _He_ didn't kill her. So did it matter that he didn't help her? He was an observer. Nothing more. And in a sensual way he had enjoyed it. Feeling her struggle, her anger, her fear. It was all part of the city. All part of the silent thrumming rhythm that stole its way into his body every night. It was the weak part of him that craved for such extreme feelings of suffering and rapture. It was an addiction he couldn't cure, and didn't care to cure. Tonight was his; one evening to indulge in guiltless sin. He was a thief, so why care that all he had was stolen? The world was out there for his taking.

But then a soft sound. A pitter-patter. A new beat added to the streets below him.

Tears?

No.

Rain.

And it was coming harder now. Soon it would fall in torrents- washing away the uncleanness of some parts and hiding the blood spilled in others. The same rain that would revive the dead would make sure some things stayed in their graves. But he remained, perched high on a building in the middle of New York. He had driven here in a haze, following the anguish and ecstasy that roughly shoved him to and fro, from country to country, from state to state, from city to city. Feelings that would never let him rest... feelings that always taunted him, tempted him...and that he gladly followed time and again into hell. They had led him, lured him, to this area. He hadn't wanted to come back, not after all the pain and hurt... and betrayal. His memory protested... it screamed- it wanted to run away desperately from this place. But those feelings tied themselves around him, tied an irremovable noose around his neck, and dragged him back to this god-forsaken city.

A city he loved.

And hated.

Ever the outsider, here he rested, the light, glittery, jovial New York on his left; the dirty, evil, violated part on his right. It was a balance only achieved in some places. Perfection rarely found. Stuck in between, he was left looking in from the outside. But what did that matter? It was more than he usually had. It was more than he could ask for.

_Damn them all_.

They could hate him; they could God well despise him with all their hearts! He didn't give a shit.

Not now.

Not tonight.

So they had abandoned him... left him to die, his flesh slowly freezing, cracking beneath the pressure of the atmosphere. He had a right to live! He would not apologize for that selfishness. Who were they...who was _she_... to condemn him? As if life hadn't already judged him a hundred times before. He would have his revenge too!

But... was he taking it too hard? Was he not forgetting how truly guilty he was?

But... they had no right. No right.

But – he deserved it.

And that was that. He, the unholy martyr, would accept their punishment. He _had_ accepted it, apologizing for things he knew couldn't be forgiven. With his head held high, lips curled into a smile, he had tried to believe that starving, freezing, and dying could be redemptive. Life disagreed, placing their punishment permanently in his beating heart where the other constant pain and sufferings of his soul resided.

So night after night he allowed himself to be submerged fully in the pain bestowed upon him. Later he would be the professional, suave and confident in an Armani suite. Dealing with the Devil as if he had been born to do it. But at this time he could let himself feel the joy and the glory, the pain and the hate, to its full extent. Let the anger soothe him. Let him find a reason to continue.

There was no longer a distinction between wanting and needing. He needed to find a way to stay grounded in this world. He wanted to find a way to escape the world he did know. And who was to hold his hand and tell him it was all right? Who could open their arms and rock him back and forth, expelling hatred from sadness? _Friends?_ _Family?_ Who existed for him now? The harder question- who _would_ exist for him if given the choice? He had only himself to depend on. He would be his own comfort.

The prostitute down the street- the pimp in the corner- they were all parts of his experience. The animal lust and the dirty anger. The forced pleasure and the choking disgust. He enjoyed it- food to a starving man. He gorged himself on it, eating and eating, trying to store up something that he knew he might have to go without for another few years. The sultry heat coming from fervent love being consummated in an apartment- the joy of a little kid opening his birthday present- it filled his drained soul. He was tired. So he would sit here until it all went away- or until he was pulled out of the flood of feelings around him.

And time passed. As it had always done. But he didn't feel it. It didn't weigh into his very marrow as it once had- ripping him apart from the inside out- aging him a hundred times faster than anyone else. Forcing a little boy to become a man the day he opened his eyes and someone screamed. Everything was lost in a blur- there was no beginning- _no end._

And a shaky laugh erupted from his lips as the cold of the rain finally penetrated his skin. His eyes glowed a fiery crimson- he was back. It was over. He was back to the real world. And he knew how foolish he had just been. Lost in himself for hours on the brittle rooftop of an abandoned building. His legs cramped- his side pinched. And it didn't matter how many times he told himself he could avoid this, could avoid taking the feelings of all those around him just so he could pretend that they were his own. No... time and again-... he wanted it. He needed it.

Then he remembered.

How could he have ignored her? More blood on his hands. Didn't matter that it was indirectly- his fault again- no longer someone else's. So he picked himself up and made to turn toward the alley that had been bathed in pain moments ago. He would play the honorable part now. He would bury her- as he had buried so many others...and then...

And then he'd head out...back to his home of many years... if it was still that... his home...

But first...

He kissed the chilled air with his dried lips and, waving his hand in a flippant gesture of arrogance, whispered his greeting into the silent night.

"Didn' t'ink Remy'd forget y', neh?"

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the long drawn-out Remy angst! I'm hoping to make Remy less weak and confused than he normally comes across in other post-Antarctica fics, but am not sure necessarily where the story is leading. As you may have noticed, I do plan to focus in somewhat on his supposed charm (or empathic abilities), but hopefully he'll still retain that swagger we know and love so well. We'll see what happens. Hope you review. And feel free to read my other story too!


	2. Remains

**Risen**

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes (05/20/2010): Okay, so I don't exactly know where this story is going, which is probably why I've had a hard time updating in the past. I hope to at some point continue with my other fanfic too, but for now plan to focus on this one as I continue to re-edit it. I hope this chapter merits as many glowing reviews as it originally received!

**Remains**

By: Dark Elf

The trees around him reflected the coiled up fury within his soul. They heaved from side to side as the wind pushed against their resisting trunks. Their dark green leaves grasped for anything to hold onto; their flimsy bodies swaying to a tuneless dance. Their hips swung, their bodies twisted- round and round- picking up pace along with the howling wind. It wrapped invisible arms around them and forced them to join it in a sensual dance that only nature could compose. Tinted a dark green, they laughed and whispered, as they joined in and fell out, flew along and jumped around, to the improvised, yet somehow intricate, ballet that they were unwilling partners to.

And yet, amongst all the tumbling and rolling, feeling the other fragile leaves crashing relentlessly into their own vein-outlined bodies, their perfectly formed curves being broken into small pieces that floated alongside of them on the wind, a haggard feeling of loneliness would consume their minds. Yes, the wind was there. Yes, their brothers were there. Yes, even dust rode alongside them on the breath of the wind. But amidst it all there was an inexplicable sadness that permeated the night. They seemed so tragically alone in the vast expanse of the world. Just like he did.

So alone.

So terribly alone.

And there was nothing out there which could provide them with any comfort. No one whose arms they could be cradled gently in. No one who could kiss them and make their fears fly away along with the breeze. None of God's supposed creations, none of the billions and billions of marvelous creatures that He was accredited to, could wash away the pain. The despair. The grief. Such tiredness filled them...filled him. Couldn't they...couldn't he...just close his eyes and surrender himself into peaceful eternity?

Into the inky night that came on schedule after the sun had gone to sleep every day...every month...year after year? Was it his unique curse to never rest? To never know joy and happiness? Was it his punishment for being...for being the child with the devil's mark? Was it destiny's hand, fate's hard shove, which drove him over and over into an inescapable pit?

These were questions that could not be answered. That would not be answered. So they continued to fly around with no direction, just as he continued to wander around with no destination.

And the wind blew harder.

And the leaves were no longer alone...for a soft sigh, escaping the lips of another lonely being, joined them...carrying them to new breathtaking heights. Heights where they found shiny companions to speak with. And he stayed beneath. Raising his head and watching them disappear into the vast ocean above him.

The stars above twinkled like distant lights that called out to the spiritually empty, hungry, beings below. They were little pinpoints, scattered about in what, without them, would have been a hopeless field of black. One could drown so easily looking at them- more so every time that they disappeared behind inconspicuous gray clouds that had the tendency to encircle the moon and its companions in their warm embrace. Forming creatures in the sky, the stars moved around of their own accord, winking down at the mortal beings below them. They were the watchers of the entire world and universe. Nothing could escape their notice, and no one could hide from their ever-watchful eyes. They saw the world as it had first been formed, not remembering their own birth, and they would continue to observe the world as it resumed its ever slow, but persistent, course through time.

Suddenly, another light broke through the darkness of the night and joined in the illumination that the stars so gladly provided to a world asleep. But instead of being a chandelier to those lost in dreams, this new light was a beacon, made by man, calling out to the lost, pulling their attention to the window it came from. It was a mixture of electricity, metal, and glass; a mixture that defied the natural order of things. It made day arise where before, hours would have had to be waited and counted. It made light appear where there should be none. It awoke those who should have been sleeping. And it attracted those who hunted during the hours when they couldn't be seen.

The artificial light played along the rims of the windowsill. It caressed the walls outside and barely kissed the plants that lay in a soft bed at its feet. It remained steady and constant. Not wavering and blinking off and on like the mischievously wise stars often did. There were no clouds to impede in on it; no shadowy forms to block out its light. However, once in a while, the faint outline of a human figure could be seen traversing across the room where the light originated. Soft footsteps could be heard hitting the tiled floor, hesitating every time they came near the window, a fragile barrier from the outside world. The figure seemed to sense something...seemed to know that its movements did not go undetected by the silent night. It felt watched. And again it hurried off to another corner of the room where much love-filled, yet somehow empty banter was created each morning.

There was an uneasiness that ate way at the subconscious of a person when they, who wished to be alone with their own thoughts, knew that privacy was not being provided. A quiet drumming, a small tapping of fingers, interrupted the utter stillness of the atmosphere. Nervousness. A feeling transmitted so easily to those who watched. The stars knew it. They could always tell. But they saw beyond what the figure inside could only feel. They were not the only entities out there awake, with a purpose, at this late hour of the night. No. For _he_ watched the indistinct figure also.

The Devil's son... as they had so affectionately named him when they too witnessed his birth into such an unforgiving and cruel world.

He watched the figure with such intensity that the stars were forced to look away. They could not partake in the viewing of such pain. For they could feel it too. The way his heart broke over and over in little pieces... pieces that they knew could never be placed back together in the same way. Poor human... they spoke in hushed tones of his trials and wretched fortunes. They murmured of places that he had searched for, things he had dreamed of, and peace he had never found. The stars frowned. They would like to see how this played out... if only the clouds would refrain from obstructing their view.

* * *

Two circles of red inferno, lying on a coal bed, glared into the ebony night sky. Remy's eyes, pulled into cat-like slits, pierced the darkness, and silently stared into the window that rested not but a few feet before him. Paying fierce attention to the shadowy figure within, he took a long drag from his cigarette. Exhaling, his breath mixed with poisonous smoke, he languidly rested his head on his hand. Remy closed his eyes for a second, trying to prolong the moment before he would see her again.

He didn't know if he was ready. Ready to see her curly auburn hair, a white streak framing her face. Ready to see her face...ready to see their faces...and whether somewhere within them was an emotion of sadness or guilt. And if there wasn't? He didn't know if he was ready to realize that they could, so easily, have moved on without him... forgetting him... not even regretting his absence.

There were so many things that he wanted to say. So many things that he wished he could have said. And he was frightened that now, having the chance, he would fail to express himself in a way that would make the somber feelings surrounding him disappear. Underneath it all- underneath his self-assured appearance- he just wanted to know that they understood. He wanted to play upon their feelings and know for certain that they knew the same pain he had known at their betrayal. He wanted... God, he wanted so many things...but just to know that he was worth something, even if it was only the space provided for an insignificant memory, would have been enough. Remy sighed. It would have been enough... a few months ago, a year ago... but now... now it wouldn't fill that hole inside him that threatened to consume his very soul. Or what was left of it.

For a long time he had just wanted to disappear. To leave and never return to a place where he probably wasn't wanted. He knew he would be the only one to blame for subjecting himself once more to their stares and judgments. He had traveled so far away, trying to escape them. To escape the memories that plagued him every night- that took the form of dreams, dreams that became confidants with his nightmares. He had especially wanted to forget her. And he had tried. Tried so hard he had almost forgotten himself. But that was the funny part... she was still connected to him. Even with all the anger and resentment he felt toward her, a part of him was still wrapped irreversibly around her. And every time that he would set off to some forgotten corner of the world, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder in the direction that he knew she was. He couldn't help that longing that came over his heart and made him whisper her name before he fell asleep at night.

Remy knew it was her- the shadowy figure walking hesitantly back and forth across an empty room. He felt her. He just knew... the same way he knew it was her eyes that he saw every time he closed his own. Her soulful emerald eyes, that he could only remember now, filled with hatred and disgust. Hatred and disgust that was unmistakably directed at him. It was her fingers that beat against the kitchen counter...it was her feet that he heard tapping against the floor. It was her... and it always would be. She was the only sound he could hear against the backdrop of the night. He wanted to see her again, so badly. Even if it meant recalling all that hurt and pain that he had tried to hide away. That he had tried to leave behind.

And he knew he couldn't help it that he was back. For he would have come back eventually. He didn't know why he was back though. Maybe it was to reclaim that part of him that she had stolen with a kiss or maybe it was to return a part of her that he couldn't get rid of no matter how far or for how long he ran. Either way, Remy felt trapped in an unending circle that continuously brought him, once and again, back to those places he tried so desperately to avoid.

In truth, he felt like a coward- cloaking himself outside with the night. Being unable to confront them as he had imagined he would so many times. He crouched, glued to one spot, unable to move because he didn't think that he was ready, after all this time, to see her rosy lips part and say his name. He didn't want, just yet, to find out whether his name would be whispered breathlessly, a tremor indicating her joy... or... if...

That was why he had come at night. That was why he hid himself, watching her. He, somewhere within his subconscious, tried to convince himself that just knowing how they were doing, without them realizing he was there, would satisfy him. So many excuses...of why he couldn't just walk right through those doors and triumphantly announce his return. So many reasons... it was too late at night, they were asleep, they wouldn't want him, there would be no place for him... So much energy spent trying to reason out why he couldn't...why he couldn't wrap her up in his arms when he saw her again. God! He would give anything just to stroll right in, past the guarded gate, and the heavy wooden mansion doors, and show her, show them all, that he was the same man that they had left behind. That he was stronger for it... that he was the same charismatic, devil-may-care, Remy that had silently weaseled his way into their lives! Just to show them that he wasn't broken, to prove to them that it was as if he had never left...or been left.

Remy laughed, a throaty, mournful sound that forced its way past his lips. Who was he kidding? He wasn't that same man anymore... he hadn't been the same since she condemned him. And that was the real problem- the real reason why he didn't just enter back into a world that was supposed to be his home. He was afraid that they would notice how much they truly had affected him; he was afraid that they would see that change. And he was afraid that in doing so, he would come to see that change as well.

Gray smoke rose from a dark figure and circled upwards into the sky.

Remy tapped his cigarette lightly, gently, against a tree- scattering the ashes of something that had once, just shortly, been alive, burning with passion. He balanced it precariously between his fingers, cradling it like if it was his only tether to a world he wished to leave. He held it softly, transmitting his own frailty into the paper and chemicals that lay between his calloused fingers. He slowly shook his head trying to clear away all the doubts and fears... trying to...

And then he opened his eyes.

And she was there, staring out of the window in to nothingness. A white cotton curtain billowing around her, hugging her, just as he wished to. And he knew she didn't see him- didn't see the two fiery circles in the night that were directed at her, that saw her, and only her. And he sadly doubted that it was him that she was thinking about, that kept her up at night... though somewhere deep within him, he hoped, beyond hope, that it was. He remembered so well the way that her smile had once been only for him. The way her white slender fingers, covered in silken gloves, had grasped only his hand. The way that she had worried over him, loved him, and cared for him more than he thought he deserved to be.

And he remembered... the way she had spit out his name, with such vehemence, before leaving him to die.

And his eyes grew darker.

And he remembered the way she had said she loved him beyond all life… and had unquestionably left his to be extinguished.

And his hand clenched tighter in a fist he didn't even register through his pain.

And he remembered the way that she had told him, long time ago, that his past didn't matter... and then stabbed him in the back a hundred times.

And his nails dug into his flesh, blood dripping slowly down his hand.

He remembered so many things. And at times he wished he didn't for then he wouldn't be so utterly consumed with anger. Because then he would be able to kiss her, hug her, tell her he loved her without doubt in his voice. Because then he wouldn't find that need within him to hurt her, hurt them... betray them...

For he hadn't come to make amends, to ask for their forgiveness nor receive it, especially when he knew he couldn't. No he hadn't come to grovel, or beg, or plead... or show any of that weakness that threatened to send him off into oblivion when he thought of them. No. He had come to find out, if the pain he felt, if the nightmares he couldn't get rid of, could be quenched. If everything he feared, that related to them, could be forgotten or driven away by making them feel exactly what he had. So they would know to the smallest and most exact degree, everything he had felt. So they would understand what it felt like to be Julius, to see Brutus with a knife.

And he hated himself so deeply. He hated that he had such Hammurabic need. But it was there and it ate away at him day in and day out. He couldn't hide it as easily as he could the need to break down and sink into nothingness. He didn't want to imagine the way her hips swayed, her back arched, and her eyes glazed, every time she was with him, every time they danced together. He didn't want to get lost thinking about the way her body felt pressed tight against his, the way her hair smelled, or the way her lips involuntarily parted every time he leaned near her.

And she was gone. Back into the kitchen. Past the door into the hallway. Away from him, out of reach, again.

Remy's cigarette glowed slightly falling away into ashes, carried off by the wind. There was nothing left.

Not for him.

Nothing left to hope for, to look for. Not from them. Not from her.

So he turned… and left as imperceptibly as he had come.

But he left with something he hadn't come with. He left knowing that he could come back. He _would_ make his way through those doors; he would stare God in the face and he would smile at all of them. And the lord of music would gain their trust. And while singing, his voice lost amidst a chorus of cherubim, the devil would get his revenge.

* * *

And the wind howled a song that only nature could sing along to. That only the leaves knew how to step to. That only the stars knew how to listen to.

And the wind whispered what it had witnessed to the stars. And the stars shrank from view. And the night faded away.

And a leaf floated down.

And all that was left were the crumpled remains of something that used to be whole. Of something that had been forced into a waltz that it didn't know how to dance to.

* * *

Notes

Hammurabic- Not a real word I guess… reference to Hammurabi's Code (i.e., an eye for an eye) which I made into an adjective.

Lord of Music- Reference to the devil.


	3. Release

**Risen **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: This chapter is a little more adult than my last ones... but the PG-13 rating is probably still appropriate. Enjoy!

**Release**

By: Dark Elf

A few hours left until sunlight would erase the night sky, stealing from it its virgin black, and he still couldn't find sleep. It hid from him and always managed to escape the minute he thought he was about to capture it. Rest no longer came easily to him; not that it ever had. But he used to be able to command it; to shut off his body and mind for at least a few hours. But now not even sleeping pills helped him. He hadn't expected that they would, especially after seeing her again. But he still tried, finding himself taking more than usual, this time using a stronger prescription. But just like each time before, the chemicals were quickly eaten away, leaving him wide-awake, tense and energized. Sleep came close only to taunt him and then ran off to disappear behind a curtain of light. Mocking him... ridiculing him... calling out to him...

And he hated it- the way in which any dreams he had were nothing but poisoned memories. Constantly sapping the limited amount of strength and will he had left. Taking from him the want to get out of bed each morning... stealing from him any reasons to continue eating... killing anything that motivated him to continue his painful course in God's parade. And he was getting tired; he had no shame in admitting it. Tired of playing along in life's perverted version of happiness. Longing to simply close his eyes and be carried off into a hazy world of clouded dreams.

But he couldn't.

Because if he closed his eyes, he would probably never open them again- tempted to let eternal sleep whisk him away to heaven or hell; for either place held promises better than where he was now. He needed to escape his emotional prison. He needed to find release.

And a few hours until morning Remy knew where he could get it.

* * *

Logan's step echoed throughout the night air; the sound reverberating between the dirt particles beneath his heavy feet. Anyone who had ears would have known of his non-too-subtle approach. They would have heard him getting nearer; they would have known when to run. But Logan didn't care. He wasn't trying to hide his presence, but rather to announce that he was out and doing his rounds. He didn't need to hide himself from anyone, and no one could hide from him. Plus... he liked a good chase.

He'd been on patrol for only a few minutes, and already he could sense that something was off. Something felt different. He closed his eyes- trying to let his animal side connect with the nature surrounding him. Trying to better hear the story the wind was trying to whisper to him. But what or who had caused such a feeling of interruption eluded him... he couldn't put his finger on it; he just knew something was out of place. He could feel it- something had left a hole of stillness amidst the jittery night air.

Logan cocked his head to the side, as if listening for what he could not see.

He took a few more steps. Walking aimlessly wherever his instincts led him.

He paused.

His nose crinkling in at the sides, involuntarily bringing his eyebrows downward in a menacing look, he forced a deep breath of air into his lungs.

And there it was.

A smell so imperceptible he hadn't noticed it before. And yet it was a smell that didn't belong to the mansion grounds, no matter how familiar it seemed. Logan's hairs raised slowly on the back of his neck. He couldn't quite place it, but it was an old smell, for whoever it had been was already gone... had been gone for a while. An indication of the success the intruder had had at coming and leaving undetected- well... almost. For it truly was an old smell- it was one Logan had not sensed for quite some time.

It was stirring something deep within his memory. Something blocked off.

And the closer he got to its original source the more a clearer and better defined face would begin to form in his mind. It was a masculine scent- one filled with lust, temptation, and anger. He opened his eyes and headed towards it.

He could almost remember.

* * *

New York.

A woman of secret passions and erotic fantasies.

Filled with buxom curves that could take a man anywhere he wanted to go... curves that those who dared to explore could get lost in. Could die in.

A woman whose inhuman moans of rapture were like a siren's call to all who heard.

New York.

A woman whose figure promised unbridled ecstasy and forbidden pleasures. Filled with intimate places that only experienced hands could truly appreciate. Hands covered in incomplete gloves. Hands that could excite her as no one else could.

A tender woman who wrapped everyone up in her suffocating embraced. Who poured her love out; giving everything she had to those who would gladly take it. A city that had lost her innocence long ago but retained her immortal beauty throughout every age.

Ravaged by rage, sorrow, and sin; but never by time. Standing as straight as the day she first opened her eyes- gazing out to a people who she would immediately welcome and hold tightly pressed to her bosom. A people that would stab her a hundred times; who would run away from her kisses and spit in her face. A people who returned to her time and time again, realizing that no other place loved them the way she did.

A woman of glittering jewels and brightly colored lights. A woman who did not sleep, but rather came alive in shorts skirts and an overly painted face each night. A woman who knew what she had and what she wanted- how to use it and how to get it.

New York.

A woman who, with fingers caressing her body, traveling up her thighs, was more beautiful than any angel. With mouth slightly parted, eyes open and fluttering, a cry escaping her lips, was a painting of something that Michelangelo could only have dreamed of. A woman whose lovers surpassed the number of stars in the sky; a true Venus.

New York.

A woman whose delicious apple had been food to Remy many times before.

He strolled down the sidewalk, exuding confidence that he did not have. Hands in pockets, cigarette dangling from perfectly formed lips, hair draped over empty eyes- he was a man playing a part already written. An actor stuck in a play he had reenacted too many times. An actor unwilling to get off the stage.

Black trench coat flowing stealthily behind him, he fingered the money in his pocket. He knew exactly what he wanted. He had come to get something he could not steal. There was no hesitation in his walk- a constant clear echoing of each step he took bouncing off the walls of the sky scraping buildings around him.

Eyes rose to meet his. Following his movements. Questioning his approach.

He stopped.

There they were. Trying to give the impression that they were casually hanging out in dark streets at three in the morning. Carefully watching him- ready to offer him anything he wanted, if he only asked. Dressed in tight clothing and adorned with faded metal rings. Rouge lipstick and dark eye shadow slapped sloppily upon their once seductive features.

Women.

No.

Pleasure.

He glanced from face to face. A little boy at the candy store, trying to decide what flavor he wanted. His eyes found a face, a face he hadn't seen before- but reminded him of another.

She saw him watching. Knew she had been chosen. Grinned, and sidled up to him. Long red nails brushed against his shoulder, as she wiped some imaginary dust off of it. Her eyes looked up at him, coy and seductive. Green eyes that knew what she was and were not ashamed.

"So, what's a pretty boy like you doin' out here so late?" She asked. Making pointless conversation. Trying to get to the point by going around it.

"Lookin' f' y', chere."

She tucked her curly auburn hair behind her ear. Glanced at him sideways.

"You're not from around here?" She started fidgeting with her bracelets. Waiting.

Ignoring her question Remy ran his hand against the pale skin of her arm, loving the feel of it. Of the heat. And the promise of more. Causing her to shiver involuntarily.

"Y' look cold; what y' say if Remy offered y' a place t' stay f' de night? A bella femme like y' deserves a nice date once in a while, non?"

Her eyes ran over his ragged coat.

"Well I'll tell you now, I'm not a cheap gal, honey. You take me out on a date, you take me out on a nice date. You offer me a place to stay- well you better be able to-"

"Dis good nuf f' a classy one like y'?" Remy shoved crisp bills into her hands. Disgust made apparent with the lack of care placed in his words; with the insulting, rough, way he placed the money in her hand.

She looked at him incredulously. Accepting the money nevertheless.

"What did you say you're name was again?"

He looked at her. Removed his sunglasses. Ready for the final test.

"Remy."

Flaming eyes stared straight into emerald ones.

She grinned; showed she didn't care. Quickly ran through the money in her hands and shoved it between her breasts.

"Nice to meet you Remy- I'm-"

She was cut off by the grimace that graced the handsome man before her. Slipping her hand in his gloved ones she started walking to the car she had seen him emerge from a little down the block.

"-I'm whoever you want me to be."

* * *

Blood.

He could practically taste the coppery sweetness in his mouth.

Logan ran his fingers over the recently stained wood. Dried blood.

Human blood.

He smelled it again. It was so familiar. Familiar but different. Logan usually did not have any problems in recalling a smell, even if it had been years that he hadn't come in contact with it. But this scent... he felt that he should have recognized it as easily as he could recognize Creed's or Jean's. That it shouldn't have been so hard to call up the memory that he felt stirring within him. The only explanation was that some chemical composition within the blood was different from what it had originally been. While he knew he had the answer- a name- upon the tip of his tongue- he couldn't say it.

His eyes darted around the clearing. Whoever the blood belonged to was gone. But why they had been there in the first place was still a mystery to him. Everything was silent within the mansion walls as far as he could tell. He looked around. The only thing in full view of the spot he was now crouched in was the kitchen window. But the scent did not approach it. It stayed near where the blood was and then led him back outside of the mansion gates. Whoever had been here had not dared approach the manor. Rather, they had stayed in one place, watching.

What or who they had been watching bothered Logan. Why they had been watching even more. He would rather have faced an attack or assault than be left to decipher a mystery. Not knowing made him feel insecure. Not knowing made him angry.

He hated riddles. Unanswered questions.

He closed his eyes. Tried remembering late nights and slurred voices.

Slurred voices... his... no. An accented voice...a drunken southern voice... complaining of life...of early mornings wake up calls... of love...

Tried remembering...

A slender figure. A boy... a man... scared, pretending to be brave... hiding... always hiding... in broad daylight, at night... on the roof...

Logan slowly raised his hand to his mouth. Touching his tongue lightly to his blood stained fingertips.

Then it clicked. All of a sudden- visions of red eyes, auburn hair, and luscious lips. Memories of smirks, cards, and poker. Of beer, drugs, and sex.

A spicy scent that he should never have forgotten. That he never thought he could have forgotten.

A scent that time had changed and altered into a stranger.

Sure and yet hesitant- a doubtful whisper filled the now stilled air.

"Remy?"

* * *

Clothing strewn carelessly across a hotel room floor.

Her tight skirt and shirt ripped off quicker than they had been put on. Discarded into a pile along with a lacey bra and a silky black thong.

His pants barely off. His thin shirt no longer hanging off his shoulders as she pulls it off and rolls into bed with him.

Slowly...

Soft kisses- exploring hands...

Her touch assuring him- letting him know she's as real as he is.

Faster...

Ravaging kisses- experienced hands...

His touch bringing her to life... igniting pleasure she never knew possible.

Arching backs. Breathless whispers.

"God-... more... Remy-"

Moans. Traveling fingers. Wet kisses. Hands clutching at anything- hair- back- shoulders... leaving marks with every surge of pleasure.

Sweating bodies. Tangled sheets. Tangled legs.

"Oh- Remy!"

"...Rogue!"

Not her name. Doesn't stop her. Doesn't stop him.

Doesn't matter to either of them.

Release comes as morning appears.

* * *

Notes

Logan's response to Remy's scent is in no way an indication of any feelings beyond friendship. I just read over this and it seems it could be interpreted that way. When the memories are going through Logan's head he is simply thinking up of details that describe this person he can't remember. Ex. "beer, drugs, and sex" is simply something I immediately connect with Remy- so I wrote it down. Just making sure to clear up any confusion if there was any. The pairing is still up in the air.


	4. Reflections

**Risen **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: If the flashbacks are at all confusing let me know… then I can rework them or explain them somehow later on. Enjoy!

This chapter is dedicated to katjen- the song is perfect.

_Cold in the Sun  
My feet on the ground  
A pale windless city  
A numbness for sound _

_I'll wait, back here  
or will you notice  
A moment in time  
A photograph lost here  
Since you were mine  
I'll wait back here  
or should I start pushing my way back  
Should I start pushing my way back _

_I walk past your room  
A deep silhouette  
You're tired of racing  
I don't understand _

_I'll wait, back here  
Cold and beneath me  
A soaked cigarette  
I'm asleep on a shoulder that I've never met  
I'll wait back here  
Or should I, start pushing my way back  
Should I start pushing my way  
home _

_And I'm with all these women  
And I'm on the edge of my breath  
And I'm thinking of leaving  
I could just lay down  
Lay down and freeze to death._

_Cold in the Sun  
My feet on the ground  
A pale windless city  
A numbness for sound_

-Howie Day

**Reflections**

By: Dark Elf

_Remy…_

_He looked around. He couldn't see. Everything was so dark, so empty. He reached out… toward the shadows he knew were flitting around him… toward the ghosts he knew were calling out to him… _

_Etienne…_

_He stumbled. He fell. He crawled upon his hands and knees because he knew they were still there- even though he couldn't feel them, even though he could barely remember how to move them..._

_Lebeau…_

_It was pointless looking around… he didn't have to. He knew where he was. He could feel the cold already seeping into his veins… freezing his blood… stilling his heart… And he wanted to scream…and he wanted to care…but he could only close his eyes…_

_Wake up. Come back._

_

* * *

_"Non!"

He woke up in a sweat. Not understanding where he was or who he was. Naked and tangled in white sheets… alone. Naked and cold and feeling as empty as he had the day he realized he was alive, the same feeling he had when he noticed that he still was.

He could feel the sun watching him. Studying him.

Remy looked around. He couldn't see, blinded by the light that filled his room. His vision flared and shifted color interpretation, adjusting to the new tinted picture of the world. He reached out as he pushed himself out of bed, trying to touch anything solid – trying to get a handle on the moment.

He staggered and with ungracefully faltering footsteps made his way across the room. Still disoriented he moved from instinct, moved without registering where he was going. He moved because he felt he had to; he moved without knowing why.

It was so cold – the thin hairs on his body raised up in response to the chill he felt. New York was a cruel lady, covered in ice but promising fire. But to a point he couldn't tell if it was the winter weather kissing the sun that caused shivers to run down his spine or if it was something else… something… He reached the bathroom and pushed himself into the shower. Turning the water on full blast he let out a sigh of relief. He threw his head back, letting the water hit his face, his chest… letting it cradle him in its embrace.

The steam surrounded him and blurred out the world before him. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of the burning water; scalding water that somehow didn't hurt. It wasn't enough, and he absorbed the heat as it touched him. He drew it in instinctively, beginning to feel a semblance of warmth again.

_The sky was laughing along with the people on the beach. But he sat huddled away from them, in the sun's private blanket of light, trying to stop the cold…trying to-_

"_Why are you shivering?" She asked, looking at him with golden brown eyes. She reached out to him, touching his forehead lightly, hesitantly, as if she didn't know if she was allowed to touch something so beautiful. He flinched. She stepped back._

"_You don't have a fever… Are you all right? It's ninety degrees out here… are you cold?"_

_She began to near him again, offering her company – offering her compassion._

_He reached out his hand and placed it on her wrist. Accidentally leading her closer in his attempt to stop her. She was warm, just like the rocks around him… and he wanted that warmth… he wanted it to radiate inside of himself …_

_She yanked her hand from his grasp as if she had been burned – but burned by ice and not by fire. And slowly she backed away, holding her wrist limply… covering the markings he had left where his hand had laid for a second in time._

_He looked down at his palm, feeling a tingling sensation he hadn't felt in a while… feeling heat. He placed his hands upon the rock he was sitting on and closed his eyes, ignoring the sound of running footsteps. Footsteps of a frightened girl; footsteps once more running away from him. The rock turned cold, freezing cold – but he felt warm – he felt alive._

_Remy opened his eyes and glared at the sun… only beginning to understand. His gift had expanded, had grown – for now the process could be reversed. He could give his 'heat', his 'energy' to an object to make it speed up – heat up – blow up; or… he could take it, not just back, but completely… and he knew how dangerous he had become._

He was brought back to himself when he noticed the water had stopped hitting him; warmth and cold, both were gone. Remy stepped out of the shower, kicking pieces of frozen water and droplets of icicles out of his way and picking them delicately out of his hair. Wrapping a towel around his waist he found himself in front of a full-length mirror – one he always knew was there, but that he desperately tried to avoid. Yet, somehow he couldn't avert his gaze, hypnotized in his own burning pools of fire. His hand slightly twitch at his side, yearning to touch something solid… his eyes slowly closed and reopened, yearning to see something. Yearning to see himself – straining to see the past within the present.

He touched the side of his neck lightly. Slender fingers ghosting over the markings of earlier pleasures. A proof of its occurrence. He grimaced as he ran his nail alongside the scratches that were signs of unchecked lust. He pressed harder and his grimace turned into a sly grin. He felt a sharp twinge of pain where his nail broke his skin, stopping only when he saw a drop of blood appear. Sometimes he wished they'd leave scars, these little insignificant memories. Faded scars that would serve as permanent memorials to the proof that he _could_ feel.

He closed his eyes, blinded once more in the dark of his eyelids, and ran his hands lazily across his eyes, his nose, his lips – his face. Trying to form an idea of who he was.

He opened his eyes and placed his hands on the mirror. Tracing the contours of the image in front of him. Running his hands against flat eyes, a flat nose, flat lips – flat glass.

And he couldn't recognize his own reflection.

* * *

Logan paced angrily back and forth in his room. He knew the rest of the inhabitants in the mansion were up, he could hear the bustling downstairs in the kitchen, as breakfast was prepared. He could smell the bacon, the eggs, the toast… and his stomach could as well. But he couldn't go down there. For he knew that the minute he set foot in the room someone was bound to notice that he wasn't telling them something… someone like Xavier or Jean… and he didn't feel like being interrogated by questions or looks at the moment; he didn't feel like lying. Because even though he was up here deliberating whether he should tell anyone of his suspicions, he knew that he had already decided that he wouldn't. He just had to be sure first.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Remy's name was taboo.

It had nothing to do with the silence he knew would descend upon the house he was in the minute he opened his mouth and brought back memories and guilt long hidden.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was scared… scared that no one would care… scared that someone would… scared that Remy was alive.

He hadn't slept all night – he couldn't. So he stayed up, smoking a cigar and wondering if he should follow the scent to wherever the hell it had gone. But he had decided against it because he didn't know what he would do when he found him… he didn't know what he would say. He didn't know if he could look Remy in the eyes, if he would find anything within them to look at.

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time. The group, the family that he had come to know, was slowly pulling apart. Alliances that he hadn't noticed before were now exposed and words that were spoken once were now silenced. He had noticed the growing fault line between dear friends ever since he returned. Hell if he knew what it had to do with – if not with Remy.

There was an emptiness that couldn't be filled. Moments when everything went dull and no one knew how to fill in the holes in their conversations. A pause that shouldn't be there, that left the room tinged with awkwardness common to strangers. Logan, ever watchful, had only sat back and observed. He could feel the uneasiness, feel the tension – feel the uncertainty that threatened to tear them and their one dream apart. And he couldn't place his finger on what was different. So many things had befallen them before. So many trials – and they had made decisions before. Hard ones. But this time – it seemed as if the glue that held them together was finally flaking apart. That after years of friendship, the little flaws of those that they knew so well were finally rubbing away at the cement of the mansion.

Something was definitely wrong. There was no denying it, and there was no hiding from it. It had been that way, growing in size and feeling since Remy had betrayed them. Since they had betrayed Remy.

Something had to be done. And Logan gruffly put on his leather jacket, knowing exactly where he was headed. Knowing exactly what he had to do.

Out in the quiet of morning, interrupting the soft chirping of birds, turning heads in the mansion kitchen, a motorcycle roared to life – and sped off in search of a lost one.

* * *

Jean tilted her head slightly, delicately – like a flower afraid of the wind that blows too hard. Afraid of the wind that threatens too much water and too many flashes of light. Of a wind she heard the soft whisperings of in her head, but couldn't quite understand. Of a wind she knew carried a warning within its soft song, but a warning she wasn't sure of.

A wind that threatened a storm.

"Has anyone seen Logan?"

Red hair slowly moving against pale cheeks, Jean turned her head to look around. She asked because she was certain she heard something a minute ago, she asked because she hated being uncertain.

Scott, sitting beside her, cast her a sidelong glance and then scanned the room seeing only red. She knew what he was thinking. She could feel the jealousy and the distrust. She could feel the turn that his thoughts were taking, and she could feel him trying to fight them.

"No- I assume that was whom we heard but a few moments ago. He probably wished to obtain his breakfast elsewhere, or knowing Logan, I am sure he had some exciting adventure awaiting him." Storm replied carelessly. To no one, to everyone.

"Oh- I…" Jean let it drop. She saw that no one cared; no one listened – just as no one truly spoke anymore. She saw the way they all buttered their toast without meeting each other's eyes and the way that they chattered as if in a routine. A routine that could not be broken, and that in her observations she was afraid to break.

"Good morning." Xavier came in. The only semblance of unity left within the decaying walls of a home Jean had known for far too long to relinquish so easily to time and strife.

A chorus of voices that once resembled those of angels arose and greeted their dream with smiles that Jean knew were not as true as they had once been. Smiles that were forced; smiles that were infused with grief and anger.

Jean stared. Oblivious to her surroundings. That was it – that soft lilting sound that had inhabited each other's speech for the previous years. So foolish of her to only notice it now. Grief. Anger. But where they came from she could hardly guess. Didn't want to guess.

_Jean?_

The Professor looked at her beneath lowered eyelids as he wheeled himself near the refrigerator and proceeded to open it.

_Jean? Is something wrong? You look –_

_**Oh I am sorry, Professor. My mind was just drifting. I – Everything's all right. Everything's okay…**_ _it has to be_ she added silently to herself.

_Are you sure? You seem, troubled. Disconnected._

_**No – it's just- I was wondering… do you feel it Professor? All around us? Do you feel it?**_

Xavier couldn't help raising his head as she addressed him. Locking eyes with her. He was surprised- it had been years. And he thought that at this point she would never notice. Never want to notice.

_Yes, Jean. Yes._

And he averted his eyes because he didn't know what to say – was uncertain of what his eyes might say.

_**How long? Why? I don't understand it – just all of a sudden – I don't know-**_

_Jean. Jean – it's been here, for quite a while now. This feeling. It's been hiding all around us in plain view._

_**Why didn't you tell me? Why –**_

_Would you have wanted me to?_

Silence.

_Jean?_

_**It's Logan isn't it? He knows. He knows, and that's why he's gone.**_

_**

* * *

**_Wind whispered. Blowing past him it sang secrets into his ear. Imitating conversations and memories that were his alone. Forcing him to remember what he was looking for. What he doubted he would find.

_Empty beer bottles littered the floor around him, decorating the living room along with plates of forgotten food. Logan looked intently at the cards in his hand. Damn. Nothing good. Shifted his eyes back to the enigma before him. Waiting. His move._

"_Royal flush, mon ami."_

_Logan let out a good-natured growl as Remy's hand stealthily, out of habit, reached for his money. Dropping his worthless cards on the small table between them Logan extended his claws- smirking as Remy stopped midway with his prize clasped in his hand._

"_Tsk Tsk Logan. A bet's a bet right? Sometime y' win – sometimes y' lose. Sometimes y' lose a lot. But dat's de way it goes, non?"_

_Logan grinned. Pulled back his claws and tapped his temple with his finger._

"_I'm not dense, Bub. But I swear, I always lose around you. We all do."_

_Remy stared intently for a moment at Logan. Shifting uncomfortably when he realized that Logan had noticed._

"_Logan – do y' ever…" Remy hesitated. Weighing his words, something Logan had noticed the thief had begun to do recently._

"_Do I ever what, kid?"_

"_Do y' ever question dis?" Remy gently, slowly, waved his hand around him. "Do y' ever question whether maybe… maybe it'd be better t' leave? T' see if maybe…"_

"_If maybe what? If maybe there's something more out there? Something that will give you the answers to the questions this place hasn't?" _

_Logan scratched the side of his head tiredly, scrunching his eyes in contemplation while he spoke. He wondered why he felt that his answer mattered more so than usual. _

"_Sure Gumbo. That's why I leave. But I always come back. 'Cause I know I always can. You can go too, you know. And we'll be here. Waiting."_

_Remy studied Logan. Studied his words and saw understanding beneath their gruff sounds. Logan tilted his head, a soft sound brushing across his ears, that he could barely hear. That he had to strain to hear._

"_But what if – what if it wasn' yo' choice t' leave?"_

_A whisper._

Had he known? All that time. Smiling and flirting with everyone. Sitting in front of him, opening up sometimes when he had enough alcohol in his system… did he know what was in front of him, what was to come? What fate had driven them to?

Too many riddles. His mind filled with questions that he didn't know how to answer. Remembering questions that once upon a time he had failed to answer.

The motorcycle roared louder.

Logan ignored the wind whipping past him. He pushed himself. Faster. Following a scent that was quickly disappearing.

* * *

Remy balanced himself precariously against the railing of the balcony that connected to his hotel room. He detachedly watched the comings and goings of the many people below him. Smoke lingered lazily from the forgotten cigarette between his fingertips. He closed his eyes and let the cold air play with his hair.

Up here nothing could touch him. Not the cold. Not the hurt.

Not the pain of remembering what he had left behind.

"_Remy – do yah- do yah think that after all this- fighting for Xavier's dream- maybe one day, yah n' Ah can jus' – have a happy ending?"_

_Clear emerald eyes pierced his own with an intensity of passion he couldn't escape._

"_Chere..." He got closer to her. Cupped her chin in his hand. Meeting her eyes with his own, "…de world isn' made o' happy endin's. De world is made o'dreams. N' de minute dey end anoder one starts."_

"_An' what's your dream Remy? What's our dream?"_

_He looked at her intently. Unsure of how to answer. _

_He saw himself coated in green, reflected off of her gaze. He saw himself and what he could become. He saw himself and what he wanted to become._

"_De dream…?" He whispered – getting closer to her. His body pressing her against her bedroom door. Lowering his lips to hers, his hand entangled in her hair, his sultry voice once more reaching her ear._

"_Y' are Rogue. Y' are de dream."_

_And then his lips came crashing down on hers._

And then his world came crashing down as well.


	5. Realms of Red

**NOTICE:** The reason I had not updated this fanfiction after the last chapter I wrote was because the ending didn't feel right. I didn't like the interaction between the characters...etc. etc. So, I have rewritten it. The beginning half is all the same but the end is different. Very different. So if you have read this chapter before I suggest to re-read the new ending. Let me know if it works. Thanks.

**Risen**

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: Watch for language in this chapter- it might be a bit strong for some of you.

**Realms of Red**

By: Dark Elf

Remy could feel himself teetering – he was beginning to fall and he knew it. He was too close to the edge, and the wind was no longer gentle as it swept its invisible hand through his hair. It was shoving him towards an emptiness he knew he would not be able to escape. It wanted to embrace him fully, away from anything solid; it wanted his last breath to be joined with its own.

Remy smirked.

New York. It wanted to claim his soul, ignorant of the fact that another lady had already taken it; ignorant that it would always remain within New Orleans.

Taking one last drag of his cigarette, Remy swung his slender legs off the balcony railing and back onto solid floor. He eyed the air curiously- it had been restless ever since he had arrived. He flicked his cigarette away from himself, wondering if it would even be noticed as it fell to the ground so far below. Wondering if it would be noticed as it lay crumpled and lonely beneath the thundering, robotic feet of the crowds that continually passed by the front of the Plaza Hotel.

Slowly making his way back into his suite, Remy's eyes lingered on the streets below. Something was coming – he could feel it. Something was looking for him – something was-

He stopped.

A small tapping on his door interrupted his thoughts.

He had asked not to be disturbed; he had ordered it. Remy knew that the employees of the Plaza Hotel responded well to money and he had bought his solitude the minute he arrived. His eyes swiftly glanced around his room – no escape_- __**damn it, why'd y' have t' go n' choose a place only a bird could escape from?**_Remy silently chided himself. There was only one way out, and one way in. Plenty of places to hide in between, but no place better than through the damned door.

He quietly approached his suite's front door. Making no sound on his bare feet, he spread his legs slightly and bent down a bit at the knees. Instinctively he curled his toes around the plush carpet beneath him as he readied to pounce the minute he opened the door.

His hand crept towards the doorknob, ready to answer in spite of all the doubts going through his head – _**if only y' were wearing yo' armor Remy, not stupid jeans and a flimsy shirt. If only y' had yo' bo-staff at de ready, if only y' had yo' jacket, if only y' had yo' pack-o' cards… if only…**_

He heard the click of the door as it opened without realizing he had even turned the knob.

"Room service?"

The short woman with a tray of food before her opened her mouth in shock, her eyes widening in fear, as she saw the strangely positioned man in front of her with the demon eyes.

Remy quickly covered her mouth with his hand.

"Look chere, dere be no request f' room service here – s' don' go knockin' on wrong doors no mo', neh? Y' don' know what y' might disturb."

The woman slowly nodded her head, showing she understood as Remy pushed her back away from him.

"I'm sorry sir. I – just- it's my second day, and I'm not used to – I'm sorry – please don't – I'm …"

Remy's lip twitched in annoyance, the only outward sign of the tension he had built up.

"N' problem- jus' don' come back here'- y' understand, non? Y' don' come up here- and while y' at it – make sure y' friends don' either."

Pulling her tray of food along with her, her wrinkled hand shaking with fear or age – he guessed the former- the woman once more nodded her head and continued down the hallway.

Remy shut the door and flung his body against it with an exasperated sigh.

He had to stop getting being so paranoid. No one knew he was here – no one even knew he was still alive.

Remy slumped to the floor, cradling himself with his head resting on his knees.

No one knew.

No one cared.

* * *

Dirty boots descended from a stressed motorcycle. A gloved hand slowly made its way towards the gritty floor of the pavement and hurriedly picked up the remnants of a used cigarette. The hand holding the cigarette-butt made its way to the creased nose of the body it belonged to- eyes followed the scent upwards- to where it was sure its prey was.

* * *

Standing still within a mass of moving people Logan already felt out of place. His eyes traveled around him, taking in his surroundings.

His brows furrowed in frustration as he finally saw where the smell led.

_**Couldn't pick a less expensive place could you, Bub?**_

Logan straightened his leather jacket and ran a hand through his hair as he took a step towards one of the most lavish hotels in New York City – the Plaza- a place of dreams and storybooks. Eloise did not do it justice. A man could feel the beauty of New York City lining the walls of the Plaza Hotel. Here a man could lose himself within the grandeur of uninterrupted dreams for a few days, if he only had a thousand dollars to spare. Here a man could share in the envious feelings that New York so constantly received. Here a man knew what it was to be New York, so high above everybody else.

Logan allowed himself to be swept up in the rush of tourists who entered the gold-framed glass doors of the hotel just to catch a glimpse of the awe-inspiring lobby. Crystal chandeliers seemed to hang from the ceiling in separate spot lights- they were the attraction, they were what the light was for – they were not there to service the lobby in any way. However, Logan was not here to pay homage to pretension, and as he stepped out of the clutches of the crowds that the lobby attendants knew were not important enough, or rich enough, to afford to an actual room in the hotel, he began to feel the questioning glares of those who knew he could not possibly afford a stay there either.

His feet felt heavy, and Logan could imagine the way little pieces of mud and debris were being left on the clean marble floor of the hotel, evidence of his trespass onto sacred ground. He had the growing feeling of being a fly on a white wall – he knew he was conspicuously out of place, and he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before someone kindly redirected him out of the lobby doors and back to the streets of New York where he belonged. No amount of acting could convince the men who worked here that he could possibly have enough money for them to allow him to touch his rough skin against their silken sheets. No amount of acting could convince these men who were half his size, and who he could break in half with a glare, that they had less power than he did.

His ears twitched as he heard the assured and unhurried steps of an attendant beginning to approach him. They were not afraid of him – he was just another tourist who had fallen out of line and was obviously not part of the tour – he was just another tourist who they had to gently nudge back into his place.

Logan's knuckles clenched out of habit as he braced himself for a confrontation.

But then his ears heard another sound, and he noticed the elevator doors at the far end of the hall were beginning to open.

_**If I can only make it- damn it, I don't want any commotion – that damned Cajun probably has ears lining these walls.**_

Logan picked up his pace and tried to casually jog towards the closing elevator doors.

"Sir! Do you need assistance –sir! I think you're going the wrong-"

Logan stopped the closing doors with his hand and pushed himself inside – no one was in the elevator. At least it seemed lady luck was on his side for now – he really didn't need a crowd of screaming aristocrats stuck with him in a small enclosed space. Quickly he pushed the button for the doors to finish closing as the winded attendant reached it.

"Sir – sir!"

The high-pitched voice was drowned out as the elevator began its ascent – Logan looked at the buttons before him – if he was Remy…

Quickly he pushed the button for the highest level.

If he was Remy he'd be a fool and try to get as close to heaven as he could.

Logan swiftly extended and retracted his ademantium claws.

_**You have to do better than this, kid. You ain't gettin' away from me this time.**_

_**

* * *

**_

The smooth opening and shutting of metal doors seemed to echo in the empty hallway. The footsteps that followed it seemed hesitant, unsure if they had been heard – surprised if they hadn't already.

* * *

Remy tugged at his white cotton shirt absentmindedly. The wind that was still finding its way through his open balcony doors seemed to like playing with it as well. He hadn't bothered to button it shut, and his fingers were now distracted by the patterns of scars, and the contours of his protruding ribs, that lined his chest. Remy let out a defeated sigh. He knew he wasn't as healthy as he used to be, and it bothered him that his body kept trying to point it out. He was skinnier than what he should have been, and he couldn't ignore the message that his fingers were sending back to him.

Like everybody else, Remy was in love with himself. He couldn't resist his own demonic beauty. He knew each soft curve of his own body better than he knew that of his closest lovers. His hands had mapped out his face, his chest, and his legs, in a continual pattern over the years. They were always surprised when they found something marring what used to be soft, smooth skin – but they soon accepted it as new terrain in an old territory. Each individual mark on his lanky body was memorized by his hands, and he could always tell when something was different or when something had changed. His hands always screamed in frustration when they had to relearn what they thought they knew so well.

So he couldn't ignore it. No matter how hard he tried to avoid mirrors, or his own reflection in the eyes of others – his hands never lied to him. He wasn't who he used to be, physically or mentally, and he hadn't bothered to buy himself much of a new wardrobe to hide the fact.

Remy pursed his eyes in a questioning look- he could have sworn he'd just heard something in the hallway. Something that shouldn't be there- interrupting the stillness of the dead hallway air.

His jeans hung low on his hips as he stood up, using the door to support himself.

The sudden pounding on the door stopped him. Even if he had been deaf he could have felt the strong vibrations transmitting themselves throughout his leaf like frame.

_**Damn, dat silly woman. **_Remy's eyes glowed bright in agitation. _**She better 'ave a good reason t' be knockin' here again.**_

Remy casually buttoned his shirt, as he turned himself to face the door.

He swore, the Plaza just wasn't what it used to be when it came to service anymore.

With one quick abrupt movement he flung the door open.

"Damn y' -stupide putain!- Didn' Remy tell y' t'-"

Words were flying out of his mouth before he even had a chance to register the figure before him.

Remy shut his mouth – and took a step back. Forgetting to even try and close the door in an attempt to buy himself more time.

"Holy fuck. Logan?"

* * *

"Hello to you too, you damned son-of-a bitch."

Logan slammed the door shut behind him as he took a step towards the retreating figure in front of him.

He could hardly believe his eyes.

It was Remy.

Remy who he had thought died years ago – died with a frozen heart and a frozen body. – Remy who he had happily gambled, drank, and smoked with- Remy …a man he thought he had understood, as they both quietly accepted each other's dark past…the only other inhabitant in that damned mansion who knew anything about the real world. The man that now stood before him – reeking of surprise and a hint of fear- this man… was Remy.

Good god.

It was Remy.

Remy- who, he now realized, just by assessing him with a glance, he never truly had known. For, while they both had dark pasts and hidden secrets, Logan was safe in the fact that he could not remember his own. How could Logan have been so utterly blind? How could he have been so foolish as to forget that the red-eyed man who had sat before him countless times, who obviously had a shameful past even though he never spoke a word of it, remembered every second of what he had done years ago? A man who could recall all of his mistakes during the hours when he was awake, and not just those when he tried to sleep? A man's whose eyes had looked haunted both in daylight and in dark?

"Jesus Christ- you look like the ghost yer supposed to be, Bub."

Gambit ran a shaking hand through his hair – he wished he had a cigarette at the moment- damn it – he wished he had a fucking pair of sun glasses to hide his shock at seeing the man before him. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Logan would have followed his scent… which meant… the rest of the X-Men… god damn it! Did he want to get caught?

_Yes_- a voice whispered coldly in his mind. _Yes. Yes, you did._

Unconsciously he could feel himself backing up toward the still open balcony doors – though hell knew what he could accomplish if he even made it out there- probably nothing- unless he wanted to join his cigarette lying at the feet of New York.

Logan's hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. Carelessly he flicked a cigarette-butt at him. Remy flinched.

"Yer bein' less careful then you used to be, Cajun. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you'd have a party waitin' fer me up here."

Remy eyed his discarded cigarette as it lay at his feet. _**Well. Never mind den – guess de option o' joinin' it outside not much o' an option any mo'.**_

Logan could see Remy trying to calm himself down and get a grip on his actions. Nothing missed his notice- not the way Remy's eyes kept darting back and forth across the room, or the way his hand continued to tremble slightly even as it tried to hide itself within the Cajun's long locks. Logan decided not to take any more steps towards the already flighty man in front of him – it was enough knowing that Remy knew that Logan could see, smell, and hear his fear.

"Logan…?"

Remy's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Logan – what y' doin' here?" Remy asked as he tried to relax his body into an outward show of calm.

"I could well ask you the same question, kid. – What were you doin' at the institute last night – what are you doin' now?

Remy shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the floor, studying the carpet intently.

"Remy was jus' seeing how t'ings were goin' on… - y' weren't supposed t' know… I wasn' goin' to cause n' trouble-"

Logan growled in annoyance.

"So, you just planned to keep us all in the dark. All this time? Is that what you have been doing Remy? Letting us worry- letting her worry, and you doing what? Fucking around? Years. Damn it! How many years were you planning to keep from us the fact that you were alive? How many more years were you planning to let us guilt over you?"

"Guilt? Guilt o'er dis?" Remy brought his head up. Meeting Logan's gaze his mouth crept into a slow sneer. "Non. How many mo' years, how many mo' months, days until de X-Men would 'ave finally forgotten dis guilt? Dis shame? Dis failure! Eh? Not many. And why dis Cajun be so stupid as t' make 'em remember?"

"Remember? Even if they don't say it, yer always there! Always in their eyes and in what they say. In what they do in and the way they walk. Jesus Christ, let them have their guilt- fine! But Ororo- Rogue-"

Remy's eyes flashed at her name, and Logan unintentionally backed away.

"What- Wolverine? Y' gonna stand dere and say dat dey deserved t' know! Dat dey deserved- as if dey would even 'ave wanted t' know!"

Remy's eyes continued to glow in anger as his voice rose in pitch and force. He clenched his fists at his side, trying to maintain a semblance of control- if he could only get to the…

"Damnit, Remy! How can you pretend that nothin' happened! You can't- not if yer here. You can't just ignore it all- ignore us- and convince yourself that they wouldn't want to see you! I won't let you stay here if you don't come and-

Remy's face suddenly went blank. He looked at Logan with unreadable eyes and a soft smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. He was studying him and Logan had the strong urge to punch that look off his face.

"Care fo' a drink?"

Remy waved his hand toward what looked like a bar at the end of his suite.

"What?" Logan was taken aback – forgetting what he was about to say. "What the fuck are you-

Remy casually walked over towards the liquors and went behind the cabinets. Slowly he went down and out of view- causing Logan to focus in on the sounds of an opening a door and the discordant melody of clinking glass.

"Remy- I'm talking to you here, I don't want any-"

Gambit raised his head over the counter and grinned- reminding Logan of a cat playing with a mouse.

"Well, Wolverine- y' may not need a drink- but sometimes even dis Cajun needs sometin' to help him out."

With that he ducked back behind bar. Logan started towards him. He couldn't understand – first the Cajun was scared, flighty- then he almost burst out in anger… and now… now he was just eerily calm. Calm. An emotion Logan couldn't read.

Logan stopped.

Something wasn't right.

Remy slowly stepped out from behind the counter. A glass of deep red wine held daintily between his thumb and forefinger. Elegance and a delicate sense of aristocracy filled the lavish room as Remy ran his fingers gently along the spine of the wine glass. Taking a sip of it he neared Logan.

"Y' know, Wolverine. Dis Cajun may be a t'ief and a liar. Some say a murderer… but y' want to know somet'in' dat de rest fo'get?

Remy gazed at Logan, staring at him with deep crimson eyes- staring into his soul- and slowly… too slowly… Logan realized who the prey had become.

It was too late. Logan didn't see Remy's hand move. Didn't see him pull the gun from the back of his jeans or even see him pull the trigger. It was too quick- impossibly quick- even for him.

All he heard was the sharp whistle of air a split second before a sharp pain hit him between the eyes.

And as he crumpled to the ground, a dangerous cold whisper filled the room.

"He's no fool."

Then Logan's world went black.

* * *

"What- Wolverine? Y' gonna stand dere and say dat dey deserved t' know! Dat dey deserved- as if dey would even 'ave wanted t' know?"

How dare Logan bring her up- make him the guilty one- make him the guilty one for their sins? Remy had tried to remain calm, but now, now all fright was gone as anger consumed him. He couldn't help it as his eyes flashed and his voice rose in pitch and force. He clenched his fists at his side, wanting to punch Logan, wanting to hurt him for coming back and making him feel… making him-

_**Wovlerine… god damnit… why'd y' 'ave to come? One o' us ain't leavin' dis room… and it sure as hell ain't gonna be me.**_

"Damnit, Remy! How can you pretend that nothin' happened! You can't- not if you're here. You can't just ignore it all- ignore us- and convince yourself that they wouldn't want to see you! I won't let you stay here if you don't come and-

And Remy suddenly remembered. His salvation lay in his preparation… and if he could only reach it… than… he wouldn't be forced into this ultimatum. He wasn't ready to face the X-Men. No he would do that on his own time, on his own terms… and hell if Logan was going to control him.

Remy's face suddenly went blank. He looked at Logan with unreadable eyes and a soft smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. He knew the one thing that would throw Logan off: if he couldn't read his prey, he would never realize when the roles became reversed. He would suspect something; he would even get a little bit on guard. But if Remy knew Logan at all it was that Logan's strength did not lay in figuring out riddles… it lay in his muscles and animals instincts…and if Remy was good at anything, it was at throwing those instincts off. He made a point to stare at Logan a little too intently, showing him that he was studying him. And he almost laughed when he realized that Logan was restraining himself from punching him at that very moment.

"Care for a drink?"

Remy wove his words around Logan's mind and made him lose his train of thought. Gracefully he waved his hand toward what looked like a bar at the end of his suite.

"What?" Logan was taken aback – it had worked. "What the fuck are you-

Remy casually walked over towards the liquors and went behind the cabinets. He made sure to make all of his movements smooth and slow, if Remy was right- the thing that would set off an animal, that would set off Logan, would be any quick unexpected movements. Going down behind it he made a show of yanking open the cabinet and rattling glasses around.

"Remy- I'm talking to you here, I don't want any-"

Gambit raised his head over the counter and grinned- he hadn't had this much fun in a while. It felt good to have the upper hand. It felt good to lie with the truth again.

"Well, Wolverine- y' may not need a drink- but sometimes even dis Cajun needs sometin' to help him out."

With that he ducked back behind bar. He could hear Logan starting towards him, so he quickly poured himself some red wine and pulled a black object from the back of the cabinets and shoved it in the back of his jeans.

Logan stopped.

Something wasn't right.

Remy slowly stepped out from behind the counter, he was ready. A feeling of numbness had spread over him intermingled with the more strange emotion of rapture.

_**O' yes, Logan. Something is not right at all. **_

He held the glass of deep red wine daintily between his thumb and forefinger, trying to create the perfect moment. Everything Remy did was an art. Was perfection. And it all lay in the style. It all lay in the moment. Elegance and a delicate sense of aristocracy filled the lavish room as Remy ran his fingers gently along the spine of the wine glass. Taking a sip of it he neared Logan- stalking him. Causing him to unconsciously back away.

"Y' know, Wolverine. Dis Cajun may be a t'ief and a liar. Some say a murderer… but y' want to know somet'in' dat de rest fo'get?

Remy gazed at Logan, staring at him with deep crimson eyes- and the minute he felt the small dawning of realization coming upon Logan he dropped his wine glass and pulled out the gun from the back of his worn jeans. It felt slow to him- so slow, but he could see by Logan's expression that everything was happening quicker than he had even expected.

Delicately he aimed- holding the gun as he had done the wine glass. And as he pulled the trigger he looked Logan straight in the eyes.

The air whistled and the sound of a sharp crack filled the room.

As Logan crumpled to the ground, a dangerous cold whisper filled the room.

"He's no fool."

Footsteps avoided the realms of red upon the white carpet.

Wine.

Blood.

A card dropped. Joining the odd mixture of shades upon the floor.

Joker, face up- smiling and glowing with the faintest hint of pink.

A small explosion could be heard echoing down the hallway as a door was quietly closed shut.

* * *

Notes

Eloise (and the Plaza Hotel): Just search on google... and you will find plenty of information!

stupide putain!- stupid whore! (A nice reviewer said this was how it would be spelled...were they right? I hope so!)


	6. Recognition

**NOTICE (05/20/2010):** When I originally wrote Chapter 5 I was quite displeased with the ending (though I don't actually remember the original version now). As the original 2006 'notice' at the start of that chapter informs, I went back and drastically changed the ending. It has been a couple of years since then, and I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with the ending of the last chapter even now (e.g., things may be OOC and transitions aren't smooth). But as I once wrote years ago, I don't think I'm going to change it much more.

**Risen **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Note (05/20/2010): As I've been rereading and re-editing these previous chapters, it is sinking in just how long it has been since I really followed these characters; so I will go ahead and apologize if anything is out of character for either of them in the future.

**Recognition **

By: Dark Elf

_**What have I done?**_

Remy shook his head. He refused to look back- he couldn't look back. He needed time. Time to think over how he was going to explain to the X-Men not just why he was back, but how- and then… that would eventually lead to questioning that he didn't quite want to be forced to answer. Tunnels he didn't want to travel through again- memories he'd rather pretend he didn't have.

But then again, what time did he have?

Because he knew without the shadow of a doubt that he would have to face his past soon.

The minute Logan woke up he'd have a tag-team of spandex wearing super heroes chasing him down… and yes- there was no doubt Logan would wake up. In all of his stupidity and rashly made plan of escape Remy had kept one thing in mind- that Logan cared. About _who_ could be debated- but the shock of seeing his closest friend during the time he'd spent at the institute had driven his anger back. Or at least had pushed it far back enough that he realized on some minimal level he still respected Logan. Of course he wouldn't mind going in for a close fight with the Wolverine, it'd always been a great way to reduce stress before. Yet… something in the back of his mind, memories that occasionally made him smile, convinced him that Logan, no matter how loud or threatening, could never truly hurt him- and he in turn couldn't either.

Logan seemingly had not informed the others of his suspicions that Remy was around- made most obvious by the fact that he had come alone. There had been something there that Logan had wanted to see and explore without the interruption of the uncontrolled emotions of his teammates.

Remy frowned.

Maybe he'd come to see if there was anything worth saving of someone who he had placed his trust in before. Maybe he'd come to see if there was anything he could recognize within the visage of a man that had disappeared three years ago. Maybe he'd come- to bring him home.

Remy ran his hand through his hair, keeping his head down as he rushed down the stairwell of the hotel.

If there was any chance that Logan hadn't come for revenge, then Remy had just failed him. And now, now that he could actually think clearly- far away from the haze of emotions- Remy saw how horribly ironic it all had been. He had claimed the one thing he wasn't was a fool. And yet the first thing he had proven himself to be was exactly that. Logan had not come with fists flying and claws extended. He had knocked.

Good god- he had _knocked_.

Remy walked faster towards the outside of the Plaza. He seemed like a ghost, breezing through the doors and out to the biting weather of the street.

Maybe Logan would understand- maybe he would realize that a gun would actually do less damage than his powers. Maybe he would understand that Remy just needed time to think and had only wanted to knock out Logan temporarily without really injuring him.

Or maybe…

Because it all ran on maybes and what-ifs…

Maybe he would think that Remy had traded his powers for such a base weapon as a gun because he had no cards in his hand left to use. Maybe Logan would think that Remy, with his dead on marksmanship- had meant to stop him permanently.

But the one thing that Remy didn't debate was that Logan would come to see how much of a fool Remy truly was. And that would be the one thing that Logan would not ignore. And if Logan had not come looking for revenge- Remy did not try to convince himself that that would be the same case the second time they ran across each other. For, there would be a second time- … but it all depended on time. Time time time… time that Remy just didn't have… time that he had never had in the first place.

Remy passed carefully through the busy crowds around him.

Unnoticeable.

Immediately he spied an unoccupied motorcycle that lay carelessly against an alley wall.

He would have recognized that bike anywhere. If the situation had been different, Remy might have laughed. Instead he approached the bike with a feeling of dread; regret filled him as he smoothly ran his hands down the bars and to the seat.

A flash of light and a loud angry sound bombarded his senses as he went to seat himself on the bike.

Remy turned- knowing exactly what he would find. He could already hear emergency bells and sirens going off.

Wincing, he stepped away from the bike and out of the alley. Slowly, hoping that maybe if he didn't look up too quickly it would all be some bad dream, he let his gaze travel to the burning top floor of the Plaza Hotel. Remy stared up at what once had been the most beautiful hotel floor in all of New York and knew that the sense of loss he suddenly felt didn't come from the destruction of that. He reached out with his empathy, trying to find any trace of the friend he had left unconscious in what was now only angry flames.

Nothing.

Remy made a tight fist with his hands, trying again- looking this time harder- trying to see if there was anything at all that could reassure him… but…

Sinking to the floor Remy closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold metal of the motorcycle.

He knew he'd barely charged that card- it was a joker for god's sake, not the card of death… simply a joke. It was supposed to be a small explosion that would fill the floor with smoke, confusing the hotel attendants when they went up there to see what had happened. Giving Logan room to escape inconspicuously as well. It wasn't supposed to do _that._"Damn it."

Remy muttered. What the hell was wrong with his power now? Was he responsible for something like this again? Images of a burning theatre entered his mind, leaving just as quickly. He had control- he thought he had control now- even without the help of a mad scientist.

"Merde! What have y' done now Remy! Y' stupid -"

"You stupid sonovabitch! What the fuck were you trying to do?"

Remy was caught short as another voice interrupted him. Opening his eyes his attention was quickly riveted on the seemingly furious man before him.

A man he would have recognized anywhere- but this time with fists formed and claws extended.

* * *

Logan opened his eyes slowly- lost for a few seconds as he tried to remember what had just occurred and why he felt like he had one of the worst hangovers in his life. Something that he could never really recall happening to him anyways.

Rubbing his forehead, Logan sat up. He felt dizzy, like he'd been whacked on the head with a sledgehammer- but closing his eyes once more, as he got a bearing on his senses, Logan could already feel the discomfort and pain receding at a rapid pace. Logan moved his hand over next to him as he pushed himself up off the floor. His eyes flew open once more as he felt his hand land in something wet and sticky.

Now he remembered.

_**Remy.**_

Looking down he saw the spread of red on the floor and lying innocently near the spot where he used to be, a single bullet- and the gun not too far away.

Anger swept through Logan as he continued remembering the succession of events that had just occurred. But something puzzled him… Remy should have known that a bullet would not stop him- that he would wake up- and come after him… that the amount of time he could buy would be- _time._

Logan shook his head. He never thought the Cajun would take that bad of a gamble.

"Why that stupid-"

All words and thoughts stopped as he noticed the joker card smiling up at him off the floor. It was practically laughing at him- as if there was some private joke that he knew that Logan had not quite caught on to yet.

But the joke was becoming more obvious now- as the faint haze of pink that seemed to pulsate throughout the card got faster and darker. Not something to be ignored. A threat that Logan would have recognized from a mile away.

Logan ran toward the hotel room door- yanking it open he took one look at the elevator's 'in case of fire' sign and ran faster toward the stairwell he hoped was at the end of the empty hallway. Not bothering to slow down Logan prepared to ram himself against the metal doorways that were in his way, hiding his pathway to the outside. But a loud explosion and a burning flash of heat flung him through the doors and down the stairs faster than he could have himself.

His head slammed unmercifully against a stair and he could faintly smell the odor of his singed flesh and burned clothes. Standing up, he brushed himself off and continued running down towards the lobby- he was pretty sure that half of New York would be interested in that explosion and he did not plan to be around when the cameras, much less hotel attendants arrived.

The lobby was in such a commotion when he entered it that he knew he didn't have to worry about anyone asking him questions about his appearance or his haste. At the moment, everyone seemed somewhat disheveled and in a frenzy to find out what had caused the entire building to shake down to its foundation.

Logan stepped outside into the night air and headed towards his motorcycle. He had to get back to the mansion before that explosion made the news- he knew the X-Men would want to know where he was the minute they heard.

A faint whiff of a familiar smell caught his attention as he came nearer to the alley he had left his bike in.

"Gambit!"

Logan growled.

He pushed his way past the crowds of spectators who were gathering around to watch the destructive show that had just occurred. Rounding the corner he made his hands into fists and brought out his claws.

If Remy wasn't ready to listen to words- he would listen to this. He would make him listen- and then they'd see what would go on from there.

His anger was put on hold as he saw Remy spilled out on the floor next to his bike. Distressed and muttering to himself Logan vaguely recognized the fact that the explosion was as much a surprise to Remy as to himself. The simple proof lay in the detail that Remy with all his acute sense had failed to look up when Logan stepped in front of him.

Logan growled deeply in his throat- this was becoming far more complicated than he had thought it would. But then again, he hadn't really placed much though into his mission when he had left the institute unannounced.

Keeping his claws extended Logan called on his quickly fading anger. He needed the kid's attention if he was going to get through to him at all. Remy's audible mutterings caught Wolverine's attention as he prepared to try a second confrontation with the man before him.

"Merde! What have y' done now Remy! Y' stupid -"

Logan restrained himself from shaking Remy right then and there. If anyone was going to chastise him- it was Logan.

"You stupid sonovabitch! What the fuck were you trying to do?"


	7. Recognition Revisited

**Risen **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Notes: Well I know I said I planned for this chapter to be out at the beginning of January. Apparently I didn't take into account that I actually would need to study for final exams. In all honesty, once the new semester started I was way too busy to even realize I'd forgotten to work on this. However, recently I received a review that motivated me (and reminded me) to pick this up again. So thank you! I hope you enjoy.

**Recognition Revisited**

By: Dark Elf

He had forgotten what it was like to be afraid. Afraid of mistakes that couldn't be rectified and a past that couldn't be forgiven. He could never quite pinpoint what defining choices brought him to these instances – times filled with doubt and soul-shaking uncertainty.

They seemed to come so suddenly, ill-fated twists of the universe over which he had no control. Soft tremors and whispered warnings went by unnoticed; simple indications, if he had chosen to listen, of a controllable destiny. However, after the fear had hit, racked every nerve and every hope, it was that very control that he despised. He had not used it when he should have, and the moment he needed it – it disappeared. Abandoned by it, he in turn denied it. Denied its existence and silently affirmed his victimization. Too often had the power to decide been ripped from his hands; too often had he relinquished it willingly, desperately, in return for feigned innocence.

He continued to play the tragic hero, pretending to be ignorant of his flaws, while anticipating his own demise. It was a pattern: he knew who was truly to blame, yet he placed the blame elsewhere. And when it managed to come back to him he found himself caught between fear and anger. Truth and lies. In privacy he would embrace the guilt and the nightmares, cold sweat his only companion. In the light of day, in the presence of others, he would hide them away with a smile on his face and a fire in his eyes. But they were there constantly; lingering behind the cracked image of the man he had charmed his way into being. And if he accepted control, he knew, through the soft tremors and whispered warnings, that nothing would stop that man from crumbling.

He could remember what it was like to be afraid.

Afraid of life and all of its intricacies.

Afraid of himself.

* * *

Logan glared down at Remy.

"Were ya trying to remodel the damn room or something?"

Remy cast his gaze towards Logan's towering figure. He ran his hands unconsciously along the outer edges of his pant pockets.

"I t'ought… y'… Gambit saw de explosion… and I t'ought y' had d-"

"Died? Damn it, Remy! "

Remy ducked his head, averting Logan's glare. Reaching into his pocket he tugged out a card, flicked it towards Logan- but this time not glowing. Landing at Logan's feet, the same joker smiled up at him.

"No one's laughin', kid. And what am I supposed to do now? You know that aside from the press our resident heroes will be swarming this scene as well! You're supposed to be a thief right? What the hell happened to stealth?"

Remy cocked his head and looked up at Logan. His eyes traced the outer edges of the ademantium claws that were aimed in his direction. Now was not the time to get the Wolverine any angrier with quick quips and sarcastic replies. Remy clearly remembered many of their fights and the damage that had resulted.

Running his tongue along the roof of his mouth, Gambit chose his words carefully.

"Logan, dat was an accident. I didn' realize dat de card –" He trailed off as he noticed Logan furrowing his eyebrows at him in anger.

"An accident, Remy!" Logan leaned in closer to Remy and frowned down at him. "You're too good for accidents. And _if_ that was an accident – that just means we have other problems to worry about."

"Dere's no reason t' worry, mon ami. Y' just caught me by surprise – but dat ain't happenin' 'gain. It won' be a problem." Remy hoped that Logan hadn't picked up on the slight hesitation in his voice. The statement held a grain of a lie. It was true that he had been caught by surprise, but saying that it wouldn't happen again was a much bigger lie than he cared to get into. With a quick Cheshire grin, Remy added, "I promise."

Logan stared incredulously at Remy. "It better not be."

The Wolverine was calming down, which pleased Remy. Maybe it was that Logan had had enough time to compose himself or that he bought Remy's half-truth. And Remy was pretty sure that the small traces of charm that he was letting leak out at the moment were probably helping the situation. At least something was still working properly.

Remy shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in a feigned gesture of innocence.

"Now, Logan. Don' y' t'ink dat y' can put away does sharp pointy bits o' metal?"

"As long as you actually talk to me and stop trying to run away like a brat." Logan sheathed his claws and gestured at Remy to get off the ground.

Remy grinned. "I'll talk but I'm not gonna promise anyt'ing else."

"Fine. Now get up off your ass. I have questions to ask you and I need a fuckin' drink if I'm going to have to listen to you talk in circles all night."

Remy stood up and dusted himself off with his hands. He gave a sideways glance at the motorcycle and then back at Logan.

"Hell, no. We're walking, you damn Cajun. There's a bar just down the street where no one will bother us. Hopefully, we'll have plenty of time to talk before the Spandexed Super Heroes decide to give me a call or check out the Plaza."

"Ah. Jus' like old times, neh Wolvie?" Gambit followed Logan as he turned back out of the alley.

Logan hunched his shoulders and stuck his hand in his jacket pockets as he turned into the street.

"No." He said gruffly. "This time you're buying."

* * *

A few minutes of awkward silence later, Remy and Logan quietly walked into what outwardly seemed to be an abandoned building. They had made their way through a series of unkempt alleys to end up at the door of an uneven staircase that led into a basement. There were no windows that showed out onto the street and no noticeable neon sign to bring attention to the location. Rather, the word_ Joe's_ hung solitarily on the door, slightly crooked and apparently about to fall off. A thick layer of dust had settled over the shadows left from what looked to have been the word _Bar. _

Remy entered with a slight hesitation at the creak of the door, he wondered if Logan came here often. The floor was sticky and the air smelled of stale liquor and sweat. Remy, following Logan, softly moved his way through the slovenly looking crowd. The room was slightly stuffy and warm, with only a few small fans on the ceiling to provide any comfort. The remaining cushions on the chairs were ripped and stained, which hardly mattered, as most patrons were too drunk to mind. There were a few slight murmurs that could be heard from distant conversations, but mostly the silence was filled up with the noise coming from the few flickering dim televisions that oddly lined the place. The sharp clink of glasses and the constant whirring of the fans provided a lulling sound that, along with too much alcohol, had caused many of the customers to fall in a blank eyed stupor or restless sleep.

Remy carefully picked his way around tables and chairs as he followed Logan further into the back of the bar. The bartender eyed them for a second and nodded to Logan when he met his eyes. Logan motioned for Remy to sit down as he slid into a relatively isolated booth. Swiftly side stepping a gob of brown muck on the floor, Remy slumped down into a ratty chair and frowned.

"Couldn' pick a darker, seedier place to have our talk, neh? Well, den again, dis be de perfect setting for a pair like us." Remy eyes skirted around the room. "Bet y' could kill a man in here and no one would notice."

Logan pursed his lips together in response.

The bartender approached them and placed two beers on the table.

"Been a while." Joe, or so Remy guessed, scratched behind his ear and sucked at his teeth. In a lowered voice he continued, "You be needing something more than drinks today? 'Cause I haven't heard nothing really except that -"

Logan placed his hand up, stopping the man short. "No. Not from you at least." He gave a sideways glance at Remy. The bartender gave Remy a somewhat trite glare and hurried off to leave them alone. From the wretched appearance of the bar, Remy guessed that the bartender had been looking forward to a little extra money in exchange for information. Gambit rested his head on his hand; he hated snitches and their lack of honesty or loyalty. Though, Remy thought, he was hardly the one to speak on behalf of honor.

"I guess y' know dis place pretty well, eh?" Remy inquired curiously.

"I come here now and then." Logan took a swig of his beer. "It serves its purpose and is hard to find."

"Who y' hiding from, Wolvie?" Remy raised an eyebrow, tracing the beer bottle lightly with his hand.

"Hmph. We're not here to talk about me, Cajun. You better fill me in on what the hell is going on – and then we need to figure out what we're going to do with you."

Remy looked away. Places like this always made him uneasy. He had spent over half his life going from dive to dive, existing as the barefoot kid in the corner who would sell his soul or body for a piece of bread. He'd escaped it with the help of the thieves' guild and become a prince among the criminal world. He may have been a swamp rat, but he couldn't help feeling awkward coming to places like these no longer out of necessity. He avoided them whenever he could; an expensive glass of wine, a beautiful waitress, and a three-course menu were his idea of untouchable places to hide in. Logan may have liked the damp dark musty places that people were too afraid to go to… Remy, however, preferred the lavish, exquisite, delicate places that no one could afford to get into.

Something skittered rapidly across the floor. Remy grimaced. He had no plans of drinking his beer now.

"Hey, pay attention."

Remy flicked his eyes away from the floor and back on Logan. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward and pushed his drink towards Logan.

"Fine, den. You'll need dat more den me." Remy shifted in his chair once more and lowered his voice. "What do y' wanna know specifically? 'Cause dis Cajun ain't plannin' on givin' y' de unabridged version just yet."

"Why don't you just start at the beginning then." Logan leaned back in his chair and stared hard at Remy.

After a long pause and piercing stare, Remy spoke again. The air around them was filled with the soft back noise of the bar, but Remy's hollow voice permeated their space. A dangerous and cold murmur escaping his lips.

"No, mon ami. Y' mean de end."

Remy smirked.

* * *

Notes

Cheshire: Reference to our old Alice in Wonderland friend, the Chesire Cat.


	8. Reason

**Risen**

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not seek to profit from this story in any way. All creative rights to the characters and original storylines belong to Marvel.

Author's Note: I'm having trouble with Remy's accent (I don't like to overdo it, including his use of third person, but want to do it justice). Hopefully it's passable. I want to highlight, though, that when Remy says something without an obvious accent it is certainly done intentionally. I am always happy to go back and fix dialogue (especially with Logan – as I'm not sure about his accent) as long as you give me clear suggestions on how to do so!

**Reason**

By: Dark Elf

He had crawled and clawed his way through too many unreasonable situations to believe in reason. Defied logic and sense; gambled and survived. He knew people too well, too intimately, to ever believe in the power of wisdom or rationale. Emotions, he found, were often too overpowering to leave much room for anything else. Tearing, desperate, and cruel, they demanded attention; Kings and Queens who long ago established their rule within the human domain.

Reason he did not know. Reason he did not understand. But emotions? Emotions he knew. Emotions he understood. Invisible strings, heart strings, that silently flowed and curled, intertwining, amidst a sea of people; trailing behind, as if trying to fly off and catch up at the same time. A constant thrumming, a deep seated pulsation, a silent song. He could call forth their melody with a touch, command their power with a look, and silence them with a whisper.

A Master among Royalty. The Prince among Thieves.

* * *

"She left me to die."

The bar seemed somehow quieter as the soft spoken statement came out of Remy's mouth; clean, clear and crisp.

"She saved me, and left me t' die."

Remy turned his head to the side, eyes focused on some spot on the wall.

"I'm sure it was a _hard_ decision. But death sentences aren't de worst t'ing." Soft shrug, short pause. "Y' know de cruelest t'ing someone can do? Give y' hope in one look n' take it away in de next breath."

Logan wasn't sure if Remy was aware of how easy he was to read in that moment; the bitterness marred his face like old battle scars.

"You know, she went back looking for you, Gumbo." Logan took a swig of his beer.

Remy pursed his eyebrows and looked up at the ceiling, feigning recall. "I know." He spoke to no one in particular.

Wolverine gave him a questioning look.

"By den it was too late." Remy stretched in his chair, slightly tipping it backward.

"Too late?"

"Without abilities like yours, Wolvie, it's hard t' survive in climates like dat. Dere's not much one can do with exploding ice. I…" Gambit looked straight at Logan this time, "I survive real well, Logan. When no one else can, I do. But Remy didn' save himself. "

Silence.

Logan wanted to ask what he meant, but he knew the Cajun too well to interrupt.

"I..." A quick grin. "…well I suppose I wasn't saved; I was found. Nothing's free though, y' know dat. Guess a street rat can be valuable t' some."

"Who found you?"

Remy let out an angry scoff. "A mad scientist. A ghost. A god. Does it _matter_? Gambit paid _his_ debt."

"How high was the price this time, Gambit?"

"When y' 'ave nothin' more t' give…

_You sell your soul._

"…y' take what y' can get."

Remy sat up abruptly, letting his chair slam forward. He leaned in, giving Logan a pointed look.

"But dat's not what y' want t' know. Y' want t' know why I'm here. Y' want t' know if I'm a threat."

Wolverine nodded slightly, somewhat impassively. He hadn't been expecting a full story; _that_ would come with time. He just needed to know if he could safely allow Gambit the luxury.

* * *

Remy was on the defensive. He knew very well that Wolverine was assessing his every word. He had practiced these answers over and over; honed the mannerisms to go with each sentence and thought. Yet, he recognized, distantly, that his emotions betrayed him. A quick flash of a frown, a sharp movement of his wrist, or an uneven look – the Wolverine would miss none of them.

As well rehearsed as his answers were, he knew they weren't enough. Some were lies, some were truths, and Remy wasn't sure he could tell them apart anymore. There was a time that he had imagined this moment: having a chance to say his piece; to explain just how wrong they had been. But he had given up on that idea a while ago; you couldn't change people with only words – unless they were laced with charm.

"Logan, I'm no threat – I never was."

And to a degree Remy meant it. When he had joined the team, he knew he wasn't entirely the best choice – no man with a past ever was. He had tried to redeem himself, to find love, family, and purpose. He had renounced his past and redefined his future in their home and in her arms. Trying to belong, he had never been a threat. He had failed.

"Doesn't explain why you're here, Cajun."

"I'm curious." Simple. Direct. Smug.

Logan made a fist. "You know what they say about curiosity."

"Killed de cat, non?"

"Yeah. Except, I'm not sure you're the feline, Bub."

Remy chuckled and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Logan caught Remy's wrist, striking it down on the table with a snarl. Gambit froze.

"Listen here, kid. I can't trust you, at least, not with them. You've been alive and don't tell a soul. You suddenly appear and hide in the shadows. I find you and you blow up a goddamn building. Curiosity just isn't good enough."

Gambit's face lost all traces of humor. Snatching his hand back, he glared at Logan. Of course he couldn't be trusted; of course curiosity wasn't good enough. He had spent the better part of his life labeled as the White Devil, congregating with thieves and cutthroats. He had left his second life as a hero labeled a liar, a traitor, and a murderer. He had never intended to demand trust or command respect, but somehow the words stung more sharply than expected.

_Hypocrite. Just like de rest of dem. _

"Remy's not de animal here, Wolvie." Gambit's tone dripped with vitriol. "Call it curiosity or closure, when a man comes dis close t' dying, sometimes he just wants t' know what for."

"You know better than the rest of us why she left you."

"And she knows better den me." Voice measured.

"Are you planning to see her, Cajun? And I don't mean from behind the bushes." Logan smirked.

Gambit sprang up, slamming his hand down on the table, eyes flashing.

"Gambit's no coward, old man. Y' don' trust me? Dat's fine." Remy's words came out in a quiet hiss. "But y' know as well as I do dat if I had wanted t', I'd have brought de whole house o' cards down by now!"

Wolverine got up slowly growling, inching his way into Gambit's space.

"Sit down, kid. You're slipping up. And I will put your fucking face through the floor before I let you lose control in here."

Gambit spread his hands wide, fingers splayed, palms facing Wolverine in invitation.

"Try it, _Furball_."

* * *

Wolverine knew there was weakness behind that show of bravado. It wouldn't be obvious to most, but he knew it existed, somewhere, tucked away behind the bitterness, anger, and loathing. He respected it but knew, as Gambit did, that there was no place for it. Logan had learned quickly that weakness led to mistakes, and mistakes got you killed.

And Furball _was_ a mistake.

Wolverine took a heavy step forward.

"You've got a thing or two to learn about respect, kid,"

Gambit's face scrunched, a look of disdain flitting across his features.

"Ain't a kid."

"Aren't much of a man either. That why you hiding from Rogue, Cajun? What, your balls fall off in the snow too?"

A flash of red.

"Fuck you."

Gambit swung forward sharply with his right fist, dipping his left hand swiftly into his coat pocket. Wolverine snarled, grabbing Gambit's fist and yanking him forward, knocking him slightly off balance. Like a dancer, Gambit followed the momentum, spinning around and bringing his left leg up to connect with Wolverine's jaw. Impact running up his thigh, he felt his leg hit against Wolverine's forearm. An expected block. Gambit grinned, left hand immediately hurling a charged card back into Wolverine's face.

The roar of pain and anger was just as loud as the contained explosion that resulted. Landing in a crouch, Gambit's eyes darted upward a second too late. Face half burned, Wolverine appeared above him, hands landing on the back of his neck and throwing him forward against the floor.

Gambit's face cracked sharply against tile. His eyes opened wide in shock for a second, the wind knocked out of him. Poker face settling back on, he froze as he felt the sharp pinch of metal at his neck.

"You damned dirty rat. I told you."

Wolverine was arched above him, right hand holding him down by the neck, left hand bent in striking position. Claws glinting, he raised his lip in a snarl as his face began to heal.

"You've slowed down."

Wolverine knew Gambit was agile, and he had counted on keeping their scuffle to a corner of the room to constrain his movement. Seeing Gambit's hand deftly dip into his pocket at the outset, Wolverine also had decided not to dodge any blows. At the moment of the explosion, blinded and scorched, he had found Gambit's scent through the smoke and launched his only attack.

His calculations were correct.

"Merde!" Remy pushed back in anger, slicing his neck against the adamantium. Logan jerked away slightly, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of blood. Noticing the distraction, Remy attempted to roll out of the hold. Logan swung around instantly, forearm crushing against Remy's neck, knee against his back pinning him to the floor.

"You done?"

"Get offa me!"

Logan was surprised to catch the smell of fear coming from the man below him. Remy's hand shook almost imperceptibly, jaw clenched tightly. Anyone else might have mistaken his reaction for anger.

"No more hiding."

Remy's breathing was heavy, and his eyes locked on the floor in front of him.

"You don't know what you're asking."

"You're out of choices, kid."

Silence.

Logan released his hold and stood up. Remy rose slowly with his back toward Logan.

Cracking his neck side to side, Logan looked around the bar. The few customers that had originally been there had surreptitiously disappeared as the fight started. The damage was mostly minimal and Logan grunted pleased. Turning to leave, he turned his gaze toward Remy one last time. The Cajun stood straight, ignoring the blood dripping down the back of his neck and the bruises forming on his face. Bangs hiding his eyes, he didn't turn to meet Logan's stare.

"I don't know if – "

"You will."

Logan's footfalls echoed loudly as he left the bar. Halfway out of the door, Logan paused. Neither man turned to look at the other.

"When you come, they will be expecting a reason."

Remy stayed still as he listened to Logan walk away.

"Dey always do, mon ami."

* * *

Gambit ran his hand across the back of his neck. The blood had dried and he traced the forming scabs with a finger absentmindedly. The wounds would heal soon enough; he could already feel the bruises on his face fading.

Things were not going as planned. Flipping his collar up and ducking his head down, Remy slipped into the night, following in Logan's wake.

He hadn't lied. He wasn't a threat. Instead, he was dangerous.

Ace of Spades. Queen of Hearts. He shuffled them swiftly in his deck.

Let the cards decide.

Reason be damned.

* * *

Note: Sorry this took so impossibly long to update (about 4 months from my last author's note). It seems like yesterday that I started this story... but it has actually been 7 years. (About a chapter a year then? That's so sad). I just started graduate school, so I'm afraid to make any promises... but I'll keep trying. At the least, this is the only fic I intend to work on for now (the x-men evolution one I started before this one is even harder to pick back up. Sigh.). The longer I take to update, the harder it becomes because I have to re-read the story every time and figure out where I want to go with it (which is not necessarily the same direction I may have started with in 2003). So if you ever have an idea, feel free to send it my way ^_^. Hope you enjoy!


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